


Shining Through the Lonely Sky

by goldfishoflove



Category: Hockey Boys - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hockey, Homophobia, Hope that's cool, M/M, National Hockey League, anyway, because it wouldn't be an HBs story without a sweet ending, but they're not MY OCs, so I'm tagging them with names, these are listed as OCs in the original work, this is a fanfic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishoflove/pseuds/goldfishoflove
Summary: Nick and Kolya came out as the first openly gay NHL players, and somehow the world kept turning. Things are definitely different this season, though: some better, some worse, and some in ways that Kolya never expected.





	Shining Through the Lonely Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To Sing of Contests](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051782) by [Oko (tucuxi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tucuxi/pseuds/Oko). 



> I read Oko's beautiful original Hockey Boys series a few weeks ago and fell completely in love with its protagonists, to the point that my brain wouldn't let me rest until I tried writing down some of my daydreams. As far as I know this is the first fanfic for this canon, which is a wild position to be in and I hope I do it justice.

The season after Nick and Kolya come out goes both better and worse than they expected.

The fans are actually mostly cool about it. This may be the NHL, but it’s also New York; gay marriage has been legal here for three years, and people who still have a problem with that have learned to keep it to themselves. There are rainbow flags in the audience at their first few home games, and honestly that's more weird than reassuring, but once the puck drops they’re easy to ignore. Kolya can’t ignore opposing players.

It’s not that he hasn’t heard shitty things on the ice before. Homophobic taunts are a standard page in the book of insults that get levied indiscriminately at everyone — nothing personal, or at least, not intended to be. Now that every player in the league knows that both of the Rangers’ star centers are gay, though, a line is instantly and invisibly drawn between the ones who stop saying it and the ones who actually mean it.

Tonight’s game is one of the bad ones. They’re hosting the Stars at Madison Square Garden and it’s tight, 1-0 at the end of an intense first period. No one is targeting Nick and Kolya physically; it would be too obvious, the message too clear. But it’s equally obvious that referees can’t hear the whole rink at once, even the ones who bother calling slurs in the first place. As much as Kolya wants to brush it off, he gives away what should have been an easy pass a second after someone hisses “faggot” behind his ear, and he’s furious at himself for letting it get to him.

Kolya’s between shifts, a few minutes later, when he sees Nick throw his gloves down and take a swing at one of the newer Stars defensemen. The ref calls it immediately, Dallas scores on the power play, and at the end of the second the game is tied. Kolya knows he should be pissed at Nick for losing his temper and maybe the game, but he just can’t, especially after he sees Nick’s lip split open wide enough that the coach sends him back to get stitches.

Kolya finds Kirill during the break. Marc played the front end of the back-to-back yesterday, so it was Kirill in goal tonight, a few feet from the fight.

“ _What happened?_ ” Kolya mutters in Russian.

“ _Called him a cocksucker,_ ” Kirill replies immediately. “ _And some shit I’m not repeating. Much worse than that._ ”

Kolya fumes. “Worse than that, but never misconduct.”

Kirill shrugs. “He say in Russian. Ref not know words.”

But Nick knows them now, apparently, and Kolya hates that even more.

They score again with two and a half minutes remaining, a messy one that bounces off a defender's skate before skidding awkwardly into the net. A win is a win, but even that feels bitter, like they can’t even have a graceful triumph over the team that’s been abusing them all night. Nick waits while Kolya puts on his victorious captain face for interviews, and when they finally trudge towards the exit they’re both too worn down to even bitch about it.

“Fuck,” Nick says suddenly, palm on his hip. “Left my phone.”

They’re only a few paces from the door, and Kolya’s ready for fresh air. “I’ll wait outside.”

 

It’s a clear, crisp night, the kind of temperature that gets you trying to remember where you stowed your winter coat in March. It doesn’t exactly smell like a rose garden — he's still in the middle of Manhattan — but the breeze feels nice on his hot face anyway.

“ _Mr. Kudryavtsev!_ ”

Kolya raises his eyebrows. There isn’t a lot of overlap these days between people who call him by his last name and people who can actually pronounce it.

“ _Mr. Kudryavtsev?_ ” Footsteps slapping on concrete draw his eyes to the lanky kid clambering up the stairs. He’s maybe fourteen, if he’s small for his age, and has a rumpled mop of black hair and a Rangers jersey hanging loosely off his shoulders. Kolya grins and takes a knee, dropping down to meet his eye level.

“ _Sorry, my papa isn’t here tonight,_ ” he says. “ _I’m Kolya._ ” He sticks out his hand.

The boy hesitates, eyes wide, then shakes it. “ _Dmitry,_ ” he says. “ _Will you sign my jersey?_ ”

Kolya already has a hand on the sharpie in his pocket. It’s the white away jersey, plenty of room to scribble his name on Dmitry's chest. Dmitry cranes his neck down to see, then looks back at Kolya.

“ _I’m going to learn how to play,_ ” he blurts out. “ _Because of you._ ”

Kolya brightens. He hears that occasionally and it never gets old. “ _Oh yeah? It looked fun tonight, huh?_ ”

But Dmitry shakes his head and scowls. “ _It looked fun already!_ ”

Kolya tilts his head.

“ _I come to your games with my papa, for years,_ ” Dmitry explains. “ _He’s always talking about the best centers in the league, Kudryavtsev and Larsson._ ”

That’s … flattering, but not what the stats say. Dmitry’s dad must be a loyal Rangers fan.

“ _I told him I want to play like you. I asked for lessons, last year and the year before. Papa said no._ ” He takes a deep breath and looks down. “ _He said boys like me don’t play hockey._ ”

It takes a moment for Kolya to catch the look Dmitry gives him, to realize with a jolt what he means.

“ _We read about you after the Olympics,_ ” Dmitry continues. He doesn’t notice the smile falling from Kolya’s face, his jaw going slack. “ _About you and Mr. Larsson. Papa was so mad, he said, no more hockey._ ” Dmitry rolls his eyes. “ _He lasted two weeks. Then he started watching on TV. Every game, I pointed and said look, Kudryavtsev and Larsson are still playing. Aren’t they still the best? You kept scoring, and winning, and he kept cheering._ ” Dmitry shakes his head. “ _Finally he got tickets again. And I asked him tonight, after the game, if I could take hockey lessons._ ”

Dmitry’s grin lights up his narrow face. “ _This year he said yes._ ”

Kolya’s mouth hangs open.

It’s been about six months since he and Nick went public about their relationship. That relationship started almost two years ago. It’s been eight years since he arrived in New York, exhausted, terrified, and certain he’d be lying about his sexuality for the rest of his life; twelve years since Artemi died, and fifteen since Kolya came out to his parents — god, Dmitry probably wasn't born yet — when his mother wept with fear for her only son and his father started drinking and stopped hugging him.

It’s only been six months since they went public. Dmitry’s going to learn to play hockey, and he’s not going to have to lie about who he is, and Kolya can barely breathe under the weight of that. His hands are shaking. He has to say something, he has to, but the words won’t come.

The silence has stretched past pensive and is hurtling towards awkwardness when the door bursts open with a clang.

“Kolya, I've been texting you, did you not — oh!” Nick looks down. Dmitry and Kolya look up, and Nick’s eyebrows knit together at the expression on Kolya’s face.

“Nick,” Kolya says quickly, leaning hard into his we’re-talking-with-fans-now voice, “this is Dmitry. In few years, NHL star.”

Nick recognizes his cue and smiles, crouching beside them. “Wow! Honor to meet you.” He extends a hand, and Dmitry shakes it even more timidly than he did Kolya’s.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “English not good.”

Kolya opens his mouth to translate, but Nick speaks first.

“ _Is okay,_ ” he says. “ _My Russian, very bad._ ”

Dmitry laughs and relaxes. Kolya thinks his heart might actually burst.

Nick sees Kolya's signature on Dmitry’s jersey and nods towards it. “Want me to sign the other side?” he offers, slowing his speech just enough to make the words distinct. He scribbles in the air, then points at Dmitry’s back.

Dmitry shakes his head hard. “ _Nyet! Okoloye Kolya._ ” He taps his chest proudly.

Nick blinks.

“Next to,” Kolya says softly. “ _Okoloye_ is next to.”

“... Oh.” Nick grins sheepishly. Kolya passes him the sharpie and he signs underneath, his loopy L tangling their names together. Dmitry beams.

Nick stands up, so Kolya does too, and Dmitry takes the hint and thanks them quickly in English and Russian before hurrying back down the stairs.

“ _Papa!_ ” he calls out. “ _Papa, look!_ ”

Kolya finally notices Dmitry’s dad waiting on the sidewalk — out of earshot, but close enough to see. He’s younger than Mikhail’s chess-playing friends but would look at home in that group, broad-shouldered and bearded and conservatively dressed. He bends over to inspect the jersey and says something quiet but excited, then ruffles Dmitry’s hair and waves at them.

Nick waves back. By the time Kolya realizes he should also wave back, Dmitry and his father are gone, and Kolya is staring blankly after them. His hands are still trembling.

“Mikushka.” Nick’s shoulders are tight, his forehead creased. “What happened?”

Kolya lets out a long breath and steps into Nick’s chest. Nick folds his arms around Kolya with a surprised noise. It may not be a secret any more, but after two years of hiding it’s still unusual for them to touch this much in public. Kolya buries his face in the crook of Nick’s neck, waiting for his heart rate to come down, for the prickling behind his eyelids to stop. Nick rubs his back patiently.

“We did right thing,” Kolya says finally. His throat feels tight. “Coming out. Right choice.”

Nick’s arms tighten. He presses an awkward sideways kiss onto Kolya’s head, avoiding the stitches on his mouth. “Good,” he says, but there's still a question in it. Kolya exhales deeply. He’ll tell Nick the rest, but not on the sidewalk outside the Garden.

Kolya pulls away. “Home,” he says, and Nick nods.

 

And this might be his favorite thing about everything being out in the open: taking one cab at the end of the night, back to the apartment that’s now Isabelle’s and Nick’s and Kolya’s. They had practically always both wound up there anyway, especially after they got back from Sochi, but over the summer the lease on Kolya’s place ran out and both Larssons firmly shot down his halfhearted suggestion of renewing it.

It’s not just that they don’t have to pretend any more, making excuses to leave practice together or carefully staggering their arrivals. Just being at home with Nick and Izzy feels different. Kolya always knows it’s okay for him to be there, that his stuff’s not in the way, that _he’s_ not in the way. It eases a tension he had never noticed he was carrying. He wonders sometimes how long it was there.

A little change can do a lot, Kolya thinks as they climb into a taxi. Nick slumps against his side, closing his eyes, and the warmth of his tired sigh makes the fine hairs on Kolya’s neck stand up.

Kolya smiles.

But some things are never going to change.


End file.
